AN ENTREPRENEUR FINDS HIS NICHE
I was lunching with my accountant while examining my assets when he suggested that I buy an office instead of renting. I was living and working at the time in a Downtown high-rise apartment and, as he said, “enriching the landlord, not you.” Soon after, I accidentally noticed an ad for a townhouse on the North Shore and sauntered across the Sixth Street Bridge (now Clemente) to an open house and bought it on the spot. My impetuosity became my home/office about four weeks later and it has appreciated nicely to be one of my wiser and larger financial and social assets. My accountant and I are pleased.
I moved from the suburbs to the North Shore 40 years ago and plan to stay until death do us part. It’s been more gladness than sadness, more good than bad, more up than down. I am glad that I moved, as are my clients.
When I moved here, I casually planned — if I can call a vague notion a plan — to stay for five years and then buy my pipe-dream home, a California contemporary of wood and glass deep in the exurbs overlooking a bubbling creek teeming with trout that would be dying to become my next meal. I figured that it would be the ideal spot to author that elusive Great American Novel, another pipe dream I share with many writers and wannabes. I abandoned both pipe dreams years ago as I dug the deepest of roots right here in the Burgh.
My home/office, a plain, anonymous three-story townhouse on the edge of Downtown Pittsburgh, is marvelously functional, its location even more so. It offers me the convenience and efficiency that are imperative for my lifestyle and business. It is my modest version of city living; it has served me well. It did what a place in suburbia never could.
I do not, by any means, begrudge life in suburbia, where I lived for many years. It obviously suits many folks in this area. One friend and former student who works in the city lives 22 miles north and “loves to drive” as much as I dislike it. He uses his time on the road, about 30 minutes each way, to plan his day or evening and listen to why-to and how-to books, including, I am happy to report, several that I authored.
My friends and clients describe me as the ultimate entrepreneur, a mini-conglomerate who writes marketing material, from plans to speeches to websites, teaches clients to do it themselves and put me out of business. I taught advanced and graduate students at Carnegie Mellon University’s English Department and Duquesne University’s Center for Environmental Research and Education to be proficient professional and technical writers. I now teach a small group of architects how to write compelling reports and proposals. I also write and publish historical fiction — which I dub “speculative drama” — and books about creating wealth and happiness.
My career is built around my words and is now in its fiftieth year. For you who are counting, I am a robust 91 years old and expect to live to be 101, despite actuarial tables that posit that I will not make it past 95. After all, age is just a number, right?
I wish that I could say that I planned my life, which has turned out, so far, better than I deserve or hoped for. If I could, I’d be a genius (I’m not) with remarkable foresight (I see the future with the same foggy lens as politicians, meteorologists, and stockbrokers). Instead, I attribute, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, my “life worth examining” to serendipity, that ability to make happy and unexpected discoveries by accident. It beats dumb luck.
LIVING IN THE CITY IS BUT ONE EXAMPLE IN MY LIFE
My home/office is also convenient and efficient to former clients in The Point — Westinghouse, U.S. Steel, Alcoa, PPG, Dravo and a smaller firm, Industrial Appraisal Company. All were a 15- to 20-minute walk away — forget the frustrations and expense of parking. I have written more than 3 million words for executives in those firms that have been published or spoken in formal settings, about the same number as 20 Tom Clancy novels, but not one movie. Those words appear to have come from the keyboards and mouths of others but originated in my head, which self-appoints me the ultimate ghost.
While I am convenient to them, they are equally convenient to me. Clients asked to meet me in my dining room, furnished to be a conference room with its adjacent bar stocked with the nibbles and drinks that they loved. Consequently, they would schedule meetings for the 4 p.m. cocktail hour.
Convenience extends its long arm into my fun life. I walk eight minutes to Pirates games, 15 to football games, 25 to Penguins games, and to the many events at PPG Paints Arena. I stroll Downtown to the Benedum Center for operas and Heinz Hall for symphonies; the Three Rivers Arts Festival is steps away, and I usually buy one piece to add to my collection of hundreds and to support the locals. I stroll across the street to the National Aviary and its many attractions, especially for my grandchildren.
Perhaps my barber/hairdresser is most convenient and adds most noticeably to my efficiency. I walk some 50 yards to her salon. She books and keeps appointments and “makes me beautiful” (our private joke, now public) in 15 minutes. Her salon is adjacent to some five small, quick-serve restaurants. I can become beautiful (sic) and satiated (easy) in one short trip.
My jovial dentist lives and practices nearby in an 1800s Victorian that he remodeled beautifully. It is close to a sandwich shop that claims to serve the best hamburger in the Burgh, another double benefit.
I saunter to a grocery and pharmacy and drive five minutes to a mechanic once a year for car inspection. I drive 3,000 miles (about the width of the United States) per year in a spiffy small car that loafs in a parking lot for weeks on end. I fill its gas tank every six weeks or so with 10-11 gallons of the cheap stuff.
My evenings can be spent at any number of bistros, several of which offer open mics that encourage customers to sing and play with El Jefe, the master of ceremonies and bass guitarist. He opens every performance with Louis Armstrong’s version of “It’s a Wonderful World,” complete with Armstrong’s gravelly voice.
Is there a future for city living? Call me a modern Pollyanna if you want, but my answer is a confident yes and I point to declining crime rates and incidents perpetrated on city employees.
I also point to a new master plan for the city that stipulates ambitious and feasible goals. Among them are creating a new land-use map, streamlining neighborhood planning, recommending various actions such as new affordable housing, and increasing street safety. The plan has been approved by the City Council.
In addition, and the most exciting for this area of sports enthusiasts, Pittsburgh will host the NFL draft in 2026. It will attract hundreds of thousands of visitors, generate millions of dollars for local businesses, and thrust us into national and global spotlights.
I belong to the Warren Buffet and Tom Peters schools of management and finance. Buffet suggests investing in companies that make products we like. Years ago, I invested in PepsiCo because I am addicted to Lays potato chips and Cheetos, just as I am deeply invested and addicted to life in the city.
Tom Peters, who hit the jackpot with his co-author Bob Waterman Jr. by searching for excellence, recommends management by walking around, so I walk around my neighborhood and am impressed by the many renovation projects and new construction, signs of a vital society. The huge, local hospital has announced another major addition.
The beat goes on, and I plan to witness it from my anonymous home/office in a neighborhood that became my niche and happy place.
Pete Geissler is a professional/technical writer, senior lecturer/teacher/coach, author and publisher of books that improve humanity. Theexpressivepress.org
Pete Geissler is a professional/technical writer, senior lecturer/teacher/coach, author and publisher of books that improve humanity. Theexpressivepress.org
